8.16.12 Thursday night in London

8.16.12 Thursday night in London

Another extraordinary day of walking, looking, listening, being amazed.
Hardly slept last night, but got up 7am to drink pot of coffee and talk to Leo. Took long, hot wakeup shower, then out to meet Stephen at Muswell Hill. Lunch at the once-Mozart Cafe. He drove to Hampstead Heath via the Highgate adjacent cemetery (Karl Marx, you'll have to wait this year), found parking in narrow lane and we walked miles over the heath in sudden sunshine, through copses and woods and past one pond after another, down muddy pathways to see the swimming ponds, one for men, one for women that looked like something out of a DH Lawrence novel, women bathing amidst trees, scattered women, woman and woman, each one looking like some genteel Hampstead author in water, on meadows. I had no idea the Heath held such secrets.  Rolling hills, unexpected glimpses of London mistily 4 miles away between hills and trees, delightful clouds, birds of many descriptions and water fowl, quiet men and women walking, sitting on the grass, staring, thinking, and then more meadows, ponds, wild hedges and blackberry bushes and enormous trees, each of which Stephen knew as individuals and about which he was passionately possessive.
Talked about Airbnb; he told me to write up the stories I hear from the guests. Two hours talking
non-stop.
The only shadows in the magical afternoon were when I asked if he had been to Banias and he retorted, "I've shot at people there," adding that it wasn't Israel, it was conquered land, at which I retorted, "We're not giving it back," when he stopped himself and we fell silent for a minute, and then as he dropped me off when I asked if he was going to Elizabeth's 'Adelman' tea party for Lily on Sunday at which he became very disturbed because neither Liz nor his mother had told him about it. Oh dear, these dark holes. You can fall through them at any age.
He dropped me off at the Tube and I arrived at Waterloo Station, fighting my way through hordes of festive and rowdy families all the way to an even more deafening and dazzling fairground that the South Embankment has become, found Leo and Regina at Au Bon Pain, found Julian at the National Theatre, and found my tickets at the BO where the helpful man I'd spoken to from LA had upgraded our seats to mid stalls for only $1 more than the original ones in the Circle!  At that I came out of my shadows and the four of us sat (and I later rented an earpiece that made a huge difference for me) enjoying the (rather ridiculous on the whole) Shaw - The Doctor's Dilemma - which was brilliantly acted and produced, funny, moving, thought provoking here and there and very enjoyable.
When we left, along the Embankment, we saw the city lit up on both sides with lights of all colors, neon, flashers, beams, lit up buildings, projected icons, a wealth of London old and very new, the slender hanging carousel with riders screaming for joy and terror, the enormous Eye rounding slowly, the bridges lit up like fireworks. Julian took his train and Leo, Regina and I walked then bussed back to 48 Portland Place, where we rounded off the evening as usual with a snack and a small glass of red wine.

Today with Sophie in London! 8.15.12

 Thursday, August 16, 2012 12:54 AM
Subject: Today

Had AMAZING day went out met Sophie outside Globe, Henry V, seats front first level towards back of stage, wonderful performance, funny, moving, Sophie had the text; she followed in it and looked, so I had moments to check up on what I missed. Great spontaneity including audience, lots of music, Eve would have loved the drums. First rate Henry. Play made awfully relevant re war and loyalty. Good weather, spattering but warm, then walked for miles. One continual fairground all the way, not just colorful buildings and cafes but lots of exhibitions, formal and sidewalk-type, exhilarating. Tate Modern was closing but we entered the cavernous halls like inside of a vast empty cathedral, just as described in Times or WSJ the other day, extraord experience, the actors, the deliberately casual overheard conversations , the odd humming, like being in giant beehive and one actor stood up and told us his life history, part of show. Then more promenading along more festive embankment, Royal Festival Hall unrecognizatble, lit up with abundant joyful exhibits. No classical music or atmosphere here for the common man during the prom season over at Albert Hall, but lots of noise at RFH, unusual, awakening concerts, and a large wandering maze made up of walls made up of closely piled books! Now I know what to do with all ours! Odd, odd, splendid. Walked across Hungerford bridge, Turneresque sky, all the way up villainous Villiers Street, Charing Cross Rd, along Oxford St, up Regent St and then stately Portland place by 11pm. Too late for Sophie to meet Leo and Regina, who were exhausted from some busy important day and ready for bed. Pity as Sophie was curious and had come all the way from Berlin to see me.

Sophie looks really well, blossoming. and sends her love. Gave me a present for Amitai. Lots of catch up re family plus news of hers and her old ladies and her search for herself, and she's begun writing her book. Starts Cambridge in Oct with visits to Harvard thrown in. Lovely day together. Now 12.30am and tomorrow I go meet my BBC cousin Stephen then to theatre with Leo and R and I have an extra ticket (Shaw's The Doctor's Dilemma) for Sophie that she can't use, sadly, as she's going to the proms. Btw Leo didn't enjoy the choice of prom music last night, the esoteric 9.30pm performance of Ligeti and Cage. Regina thought it fun. I heard the 4 Minute Silence Music by John Cage on their radio.Emperor's clothes? It was followed by 4 mins of ecstatic applause!

Thanks for your poems. Try to go out and enjoy yourself.

xxxxL

Dear Woody Allen,

On flight to UK, night of 8.13.12

Dear Woody Allen,

I am the person who shouted out "Mazeltov!" at you as you and your wife Mrs. Soon-Yi Allen passed us on 82nd Street walking towards Madison Avenue last July. Mr. Allen, listen, I want to say "I'm sorry," or even "I'm very sorry," or even "No, you don't get it, I'm really very very sorry!" because after I had gone three feet the expression on your face came back and fixed itself to the front of my brain like a still from one of your movies; you looked so very careworn and weary, so full of angst and sadness, defenseless against the heat, the years, the long stretch of 82nd Street, the insouciant families on the sidewalk, arthritis, anxiety about whatever ails thee, Kafka, Kerouak, stones and arrows, relations gone awry, good gone bad, guilt, regret, raging at the not-yet night, and then the sudden, penetrating shout of "Mazeltov!" into your ear as I beheld you and passed by so gleefully. For in that microbeat of an Oympic second, many thoughts rushed into my incoherent speaking-cortex and I was shocked, yes shocked, by a desire to leap at you, embrace your frail frame, kiss you all over your haggard face, shake your hand and declare myself your devoted admirer ever since I was dragged as a greenhornette  to see "Take the Money and Run" in 1970 without ever having heard your name and jumping for joy at those Jewish legs crossing the screen in the opening scene, and at the exact same time wanted to ply you with confused and qesperate questions -- come come Woody Allen let's abscond to the Carlyle back on Madison, you can play your saxophone and I will spill out my querulous queries, Why?  Oh why? And you know exactly what I'm getting at as I encapsulate all the grudges any of your fine critics have held against you -- no, not the one about sticking to a Jewish life or the other about New England envy which I love in spite of your yearning for the unobtainable because your themes strain and strive with humor and you aren't Richard Wagner with his seductive hours of concocted theme immersion whom I should not be enjoying but I do; you are a  2nd generation Jew yes Jew still, still testing out America and mythologizing global views with filmic nods as ingenious and clever and cornily delicious as the late 'America Sings' in Disneyland.

So when I shouted "Mazeltov!" I was truly, truly congratulating you for all that, but you must, yes surely must, as you are an acute observer, have noticed with your ears -- as you determinedly did not stop or even glance my way -- that I did not add your name, and that the "Mazeltov!" had a loud, rasping edge to it and why?  You want to know? Not really. I'll tell you. Because you were with your delicate young wife who was holding your arm so protectively, but all I could think for that second welled up from inside my resentful breast -- not because she is Asian, God forbid, or even (sacrilege) your quasi adopted daughter, O Bartolo, or that you betrayed all the claptrap of this moralistic passerby, myself, Everywoman, but because she is so.... so young!

How could you act just like any other randy, aging late-middle aged man, as if you were Pablo Picasso or Henry VIII or King David, taking a slender, innocent young thing and disobeying the 11th Commandment so eloquently observed by W.S, "Old age and youth..." after all here am I, 73 and still a good looking broad, full of goodwill, sarcasm, laziness, energy and wit, crossing my path with your Royal Joined Devotednesses, and how could you not see me with my son the rabbi, his wife and baby, my daughter the lawyer, my son-in-law the architect and three funny looking grandsons all wearing yarmulkas who were marching west towards the Met and eating ice creams? Aren't there enough amazing, awesome, inspiring dames like me to make you turn your eyes away from your burgeoning youth-replacement 20-somethings?  What is it men want and want and want? How about me! Howl howl howl!

But then 6/7ths of a second later I was hit by yeller's remorse. I even wanted to run back along 82nd Street and apologize, "I'm sorry, Woody! I didn't mean to hurt you, the world is cruel enough as it is,  I'm very very very sorry!" But my children laughed and grabbed my arm. "Don't be insane, Mom!" they cried, "That was Woody Allen! He didn't even notice you exist!"

Yours sincerely,

Linda, from Los Angeles.